Live With The Consequences
by The Viceroy of Kush
Summary: Ch. 3. Teens make rash, risky decisions all the time. But, the rash, risky decision made by James Potter and Amelia Zabini has greater consequences than they expected – a consequence that will be with them for the rest of their lives. NextGen.
1. Prologue: Peer Pressure

**Disclaimer: **This will apply to the rest of the fic, so listen up and listen good: I don't own this wonderful and enchanting little empire, folks. Really, I swear. I'm not a blonde, I'm not British, and I certainly not wealthier than God. So, look elsewhere for ownership.

**Author's Note: **This chapter is completely un-beta'd. I went back and reread it at least two or three times, self-editing in the process, but obviously, I won't catch all mistakes. So forgive the mistake ahead of time. (Of course, if you see a continuity error – no matter how small – by all means, tell me. But otherwise, I know there's more than a little shabby grammar and whatnot in here.)

* * *

**Prologue**: _Peer Pressure_

Looking back on it, James Potter came to the conclusion that it had probably all started with that classic dormitory discussion of girls and shagging. Not that he was stupid enough to blame their predicament on one of many coarse and ribald talks with his mates. But, it was certainly what put the idea into his head that no matter what, he wanted to _go there_ with Mia, and quite soon. He had fantasized and thought deeply on what it be like to take that big step, mostly in the midst of a heated snogging session. But, it was definitely after _that_ conversation that he became determined to _go there_.

If not because he was insanely attracted to the Hufflepuff beauty, then because he never again wanted to feel that blended sensation of embarrassment and frustration while his mates revealed how far they had gone and with who. How bloody embarrassed he was, when he had grudgingly confessed that the most that Mia had let him do was unbutton her blouse and feel her up a bit.

Compared to the others, that was positively juvenile. It was most of his mates had accomplished by their fourth year.

Owain proudly declared that while Gracie Kestrel was a bit of a prude, he had recently been able to coax her into letting his zealous kisses travel down past her down collar, down the length of her torso, and right down into knickers. James had figured that the burly Scottish boy had been exaggerated a bit when he described how loudly and how often Gracie had screamed his name, he also figured that Owain probably wasn't too far off the mark. He'd heard whispers about how, if you were doing what you were supposed to, a girl would practically go wild as you did that certain deed.

And, as always, Vincent hadn't missed the opportunity to once again regal the ongoing love affair with River Lovegood-Thomas. A part of James hadn't wanted to hear this, for as Auntie Luna and Uncle Dean's eldest daughter, River was something of an older sister to him. But, the greater part of James had been eager for more details, for he could appreciate how alluring the former Ravenclaw witch was and couldn't quite believe that someone so serene and so…_sweet_, could do the thing Vincent said she'd did.

Cepheus had confessed that he and Aurelia Watson, a snobbish seventh-year Slytherin, had been tumbling around under the sheets since they'd first became a couple back during the Christmas holidays in their fifth-year. This was promptly followed by a declaration that he was rather bored with her by now, the closer they got to the year-mark. Cepheus attributed this to the fact that Aurelia was as prudish as she was snobbish, and this translated into a total lack of imagination in bed. He'd tried several times to convince her that it would be most pleasurable to try out some of the things he'd read about in Playwizard, but she wasn't hearing any of it, and Cepheus was quickly tiring of it.

The group of sixth-year boys had even allowed Aniston to share his tales of how he had most willingly been seduced by a Muggle artist, while vacationing in Greece over the summer holiday just passed. This tale had humiliated James the most, if only for the fact that even Aniston, the bloody shirt-lifter he was, had gotten a bit of play. None of the boys had wanted Aniston to go into detail, but James's curiosity had gotten the better of him, and after over chorus of rather disgusted protest, Aniston had described what it had been like to be shagged by another male. He wished he hadn't asked afterwards, but couldn't help but being pissed that Mia hadn't even allowed him to take off her bra, let alone explore the secret areas below her waist.

The only one, besides James himself, that didn't have anything sordid or sexual to share was Amit Nott. However, this hadn't surprised any of them. Amit was rarely seen in the company of anyone, least of all girls, and completely seemed to prefer his presence and his presence alone. More than once, the reedy wizard had turned down their offers of playing Quidditch or sneaking out to Hogsmeade, in favor of closing himself off in his bed, doing Merlin knew what. James would have been comforted by the fact that he was not alone in his lack of sexual experience, if not for the fact that Amit simply didn't seem to _count_ when it came to things like this.

Intrigued and feeling a slight bit randy after all his mates' sordid confessions, James had hardly noticed that the sharing circle had apparently come around to him. But, he quickly became aware, when Owain had prompted him with a less than polite "Any chance you've fucked Mia yet, Jamie?" Heat had flared in his face and neck, as his mind sped through memories of all the kisses and touches in deserted corners. When he set his lusty kneading of Mia's ample chest and the almost-involuntary grinding of his hips against hers against all that he had just heard, he could barely open his mouth against the rush of embarrassment that had bubbled up from the pits of his stomach. He blinked stupidly at the group, rapidly trying to come up with a response.

For a long moment, James seriously considered lying his arse off, and creating completely fabricated tales of his romantic and irresistible seduction of the witch he'd been dating most of the year. He would make a point of making it sound as though he was a regular Lothario, a charmer so irresistible that Mia hadn't a chance of overcoming his seductive wiles.

But, Vincent – his cousin and best mate all rolled into one, the one wizard who knew him better than any other soul in the universe – would probably see through that in a hot second, and the game would be over before it got started good. Not to mention, he cared too much for the Hufflepuff to put ideas of her being a regular sex kitten in the heads of his mates. He wouldn't do that Mia, no matter how desperately he wanted his mates to think him experienced and manly.

So, he had grudgingly admitted how far he'd gone with Mia, and braced himself for the inevitable hoots of disbelief and derision.

They didn't disappoint him, either. Owain – the smarmy prat he was - was leading the pack and posturing that by their fifth-year, he had definitely moved past tit-grabbing and onto diddling. He made a big production of how, at seventeen and almost towards the end of his sixth-year, James was an undeniable virgin. To his later embarrassment, for he had given in completely to Owain's taunting, James had furiously stormed out of the dormitory, unwilling to endure the taunting and malicious snickers. But, it hadn't stopped there. For several weeks following, his fellow sixth-year boys had carried smirks so knowing whenever they'd seen him with Mia that it wasn't too long before James wanted to use them all for Bludger practice.

Finally, by the time the Christmas holidays had arrived, James could no longer take it.

Between the lot of them, James was almost certain that he was going to spontaneous combust. Owain never missed an opportunity to make crude remarks about his continued virgin status. Vincent had tried to come to his defense, but this only annoyed James more, because he knew that Vincent was more amused than anything. Aniston was simply begging to be hexed, with his hushed assurances that he wasn't out on anything big, that sex with a girl wasn't everything that it was cracked up to be. Cepheus always seemed to be hovering around whenever Aniston made these comments, and would immediately jump in and contradict that, with a firm and zealous assurance that sex with a girl was indeed everything it was cracked up to be, and then some. And even Amit, who hadn't seemed to be interest in them at all, let alone their conversation was beginning to look at him with something close to a smirk on his face.

For the first time in his life, James found that there was a strong possibility that his father was right, and having the piss taken out of you wasn't something you enjoyed.

And, James found that the more he had to endure the jeering and snickering of his mates, the more aggressive and insistent he became with Mia.

He didn't mean to make her uncomfortable or rush her into anything. But the building frustration – both sexual and otherwise – was driving him crazy. When he finally explained this to Mia, after positively roaring in dissatisfaction that once again, she had rebuffed his attempts to get off through dry-humping, she was surprisingly understanding. Similar to what he was going with his mates, her own friends had told of her their rendezvous with their own male suitors. And while they weren't harping on her for being a virgin, they were assuring her that if she give it up and give up soon, James would certainly go find release elsewhere. Though the idea hadn't ever occurred to him that he could find another witch who was more than willing – despite Owain's offers that he knew several witches who fit the description – that didn't stop him subtly _not_ denying the possibility.

It was manipulative and rather underhanded of him, but at this point, he was a little desperate, not only for a release, but to prove to his mates that he was no longer a bumbling virgin.

Mia had left him that night, as she usually did: with a raging hard-on and an intense amount of disappointment and frustration, which dissipated only slightly when he was back in the dormitory, wanking off to sensual images of what she could do with him if only she was willing. But, he couldn't deny that there had been a deeply thoughtful look on her face, as though she was contemplating the possibility of going there with him. James didn't get his hopes up, though.

There was a greater chance that a snowball would survive in the hands of Hades himself, than there was of Mia finally relenting, and allowing him to _go there_.

Yet, it appeared that Hades _had_ taken a chance and layered his hands in Cooling Charms before holding that snowball. The whispered request on the way to the greenhouses for Herbology that he meet her at midnight in the Room of Requirement sent a thrill through him. And, it wasn't just because of the sensation of her warm breath tickling his ear as she'd whispered it to him. Almost instinctively, James could feel that tonight would be the night. The night that he would finally "join the club", as it was. He had tried not to get his hopes up, if it turned out that she just wanted to spend time with him before they went their separate ways for two whole weeks, but it wasn't any use.

By the time midnight arrive, pure restlessness was coursing through each and every vein in his body, and he quite nearly got caught by the elderly and slightly demented caretaker, old Filch, he was so eager and anxious to meet up with his girlfriend.

When he arrived, he was hardly surprised what Mia had Required of the room: a wide balcony, with French doors that had been opened up the reveal an illusion of a breezy, moonlit night; a room that looked as though it belonged in a chalet in an exotic, foreign country; and, most tantalizing of all, a king-sized bed dressed in sheets woven from Egyptian cotton and pillows stuffed with the softest of hippogriff feathers. That thrill that had come from simply being told that she wanted to meet up with him intensified, until it was a frenzied beating of his heart, a thundering of blood in his ears, and an acute awareness of the slender witch that awaited him on the bed.

James had been randy beyond belief at the sight of Mia lounging nervously on the bed, looking ten times more desirable than his most vivid fits of imagination had come up with. Everything about her – her enchantingly curvy figure, glowing amber-green eyes searching his face anxiously, her full bottom lip pulled between her teeth, her tips of her copper brown hair brushing shoulders – made his heart hammer an uneven rhythm against his chest and his breathing to deepen. There was nothing more James wanted in that moment than to jump her bones with unbridled lust.

But, he quickly and firmly reminded himself that he was not his mates, and this was not a random shag to later be bragged about in the locker room. This was Amelia Zabini, a witch who he wasn't in love with, by any stretch of the imagination, but who he cared about a great deal. No matter how badly he wanted to this, how badly he wanted experience the sensations that had been described in detail to him by his mates, he would not rush into it like a Bludger being let out the trunk.

He would go slowly and take his time, and make this a night that both of them would remember for a long time to come.

And, Godric, had it been night to remember. If not for the fact that he had experience such an intense amount of pleasure that an Euphoria Elixir would probably never work on him again, then for the words that had Mia had just whispered.

"I think I'm pregnant, Jamie."


	2. A Midnight Confession

**Chapter One**: _A Midnight Confession_

All around them, a furious thunderstorm raged. The winds that the month of March were famous for were blowing fiercely about, causing the more limber trees to sway wildly and the many loosened window panes within the castle to rattle weakly. Chilled needles of rain flew around in every way imaginable, and in general, the outdoors were a less than ideal place to be at the moment.

Why it was that Mia had selected the southern courtyard as the designated place for them to talk, James hadn't any idea. One of the several abandoned classrooms, one of their Common Rooms, the Room of Requirement – hell, even a _broom closet_, would have undoubtedly been more comfortable than the chilly, March night that awaited them outside the castle. But, upon catching the look that Mia carried, all thoughts of suggesting an alternate place to talk had disappeared.

The blend of fear and anxiety, each tied together with the most lost look he'd ever seen had made his stomach clench with unease. At the same time, the naturally protective instincts he held for anyone he cared about had risen fiercely, and he'd immediately made to wrap her in a tight embrace. But, Mia was completely unreceptive to the gesture, smoothly evading his opened arms with a graceful sidestep. James felt another surge of anxiety surge through him. He could feel in his bones that something was wrong. But, Mia wasn't telling – not until they had reached the courtyard.

Now, as they rested upon one of handful of moss-covered stone benches that decorated the courtyard, him straddling one end of it and her perched on the opposite end with her knees drawn up to her chest, Mia had revealed the cause of her poorly hidden distress. And, James had promptly gone numb.

The thin rivulets of rainwater that had collected in the grooves and cracks of the stone archways dripped lazily from the edges, the backlashes of the splattered drops sprinkling them with wetness. Several particularly strong gusts of wind rushed through their hair and pushed against their faces. The frequent and deep throbs of thunder seemed to shake the very foundations of the castle, sending faint vibrations through the stone ground his feet rested on.

But, James couldn't feel any of those sensations.

At the moment, he couldn't feel anything at all. The very moment that those words had been breathed through the parted, enticingly full lips that he'd always relished kissing, it was almost as if the surrounding world had disintegrated into absolute nothingness. James found himself swept up into a blanket of numbness, a blanket so thick that it blocked out all there was to the outside world. Nothing around him existed, and he was oblivious to all of it.

Yet, where he was aware of nothing around him, James found that he was acutely aware of all the sensations assailing his body. His heart seemed to slow down considerably, until he could feel each beat exactly, feel every drop of blood it pumped through his body. His breathing seemed to still altogether, his lungs screaming for relief, but his mind unable to command the action. Each and every muscle in his body ceased to move, his hand frozen around his brightly glowing wand in a grip so strong, there was a distinct possibility that the slender wooden instrument would snap cleanly in two. His honey brown eyes, inherited from his mother in all their sparkling glory, had seem to forget what blinking was, and glazed over, unseeingly.

Time itself seemed to slow, until he was certain that it had come to a complete stop, perhaps ceasing to exist at all.

_I think I'm pregnant, Jamie…I think I'm pregnant, Jamie…I think I'm pregnant, Jamie…_

The words echoed in his head, bouncing around, intensifying and becoming louder with each repetition. For a moment, James wondered if he had heard her incorrectly, that perhaps he had misunderstood her because of a peal of thunder or particularly loud gust of wind. But, no. The more the words churned around in his mind, the more certain he became that Mia had definitely said what she had, and it hadn't been a miscommunication.

Mia was _pregnant_. Mia was _going to have a baby_. Mia was _carrying a tiny life inside her_. Mia was _expecting_.

No matter how many different ways he phrased it, no matter how many different combinations he made from the implications, in the end, it all came to mean the same thing. At the age of seventeen, Amelia Zabini and James Potter had created a whole other life. A life that was blossoming and developing as they sat there. A life which they would be responsible for, each and every day, for the rest of their lives.

It was all too much to believe, too much to take in.

He was about to be a father. He was expecting a little witch or wizard. Within her, Mia carried his –

Though the numbing layer of fog that had enveloped his mind, the thought sprang to life and instantly began to fester. For a moment, James was faintly shocked that the thought was worth consideration. As far as he knew, Mia had lain only with him. He knew without a doubt that she had been the witch he'd given his virginity to. But, could he say the same for Mia? Could he say with the same amount of doubtlessness that she had afforded him the same?

No matter how deeply he desired to repeat the experience they'd shared back in December, the fact remained that there weren't many opportunities around Hogwarts to do so. Not only were they in separate Houses, each being on completely different parts of the castle, but they each had responsibilities and duties to uphold, responsibilities and duties that left little or no time for rendezvousing in secluded parts of Hogwarts. Since that first time, James and Mia had only been able to be with one another twice – and, one of those times was more like a quick shag than any actual lovemaking.

Perhaps she'd been overtaken by her desires one evening…

Maybe she'd found herself unable to find release by her own hands…

There was a chance that someone other than himself had been able to offer her release…

In classic James Potter fashion, before he'd had the chance to process the idea ricocheting around in his head, before he truly stopped and considered what his words would imply or what affect they had, he pieced together the half-formed ideas simmering within his mind, and voiced them. By the time he realized what he was saying, the question had slipped from between his colorless lips and floated into the clammy air.

"Is it mine?"

_CRACK_!

Where he had been hovering in a strange gap in time, where everything was frozen and nothing registered, the thoroughly unexpected and quite painful sensation of Mia's hand flying backwards and colliding with surprising strength across his face jerked him back into reality quite firmly. Instinctively, his own hand flew up to his face, the entire right side of his face radiating with such intense pain, it was nearly as numb as the rest of him.

"What the _fuck_, Amelia!" exclaimed James, curling forward slightly as his face gave another painful throb.

"I cannot _believe_ you," hissed Mia, icily. The golden light that his wand had been producing bobbed around erratically as James wrenched forwards with another his of pain, and the random slivers of light that fell across her face showed her amber-green eyes to be glittering like hardened jewels. "I can't _believe_ that you have the balls to _ask_ me something like _that_."

"I mean, I – it was – I didn't – " stammered James. His face was throbbing steadily now, the ache arching upwards into his temple. "I mean – it's just a question – "

"_It is not just a question_! Not in the slightest, you stupid fucking bastard!" Mia spoke through her teeth, her voice becoming more frigid with each word. The acridity of her sarcasm seemed to pierce him, as tightly as it was curled around her icy fury. "It is an insinuation that now that you've graced me with the overwhelming _gift_ of your _potent sexuality_, I've become a loose girl. That now that I've had a taste of what sex is like with _the godly and amazing James Potter_, I can't get enough of it, and have taken up finding it wherever I can get it – "

Mia inhaled a deep and shuddering breath, and when she spoke again, it was obvious that she had taken a direct leap into hysterics. Her voice, which James had always found irresistibly alluring, its cultured and smooth cadence similar to the sounds of elegant music to his ears, had become unpleasantly shrill, quavering with each forthcoming word. Her rich copper brown complexion, which seemed to glow in the faint light from his wand, had was flushed with color. And her eyes, which could have previously been likened to chips of ice, were now held a differ glint – that of wounded anger and unshed tears.

James, however, barely noticed this. He was still reeling from the unexpected backslap to the face, his shocked indignity hardening his face into a piercing question. "I did not say that! I didn't say that at all – "

"But you _meant_ it!" screeched Mia. "You fucking meant it!"

"Don't you tell me what I meant, woman!" James barked in response. The ache in his face was a steady throbbing now, and with a particularly nasty pulse, he felt something warm and wet begin to ease between his index and middle fingers. A glance downwards at his withdrawn hand revealed a smear of crimson blood, and accusingly, his honey brown eyes snapped upwards. "Look at what you did to me!"

"_Look at what I did to you_?" Mia was breathing unevenly now, inhaling sharply and exhaling harshly. "Look at what _I_ did to _you_?!"

For the span of two heartbeats, there was silence. Then, a shriek similar to that of a wounded Kneazle soared from between her bared teeth, and Mia lunged forward, her hands blindly thrashing about.

"LOOK AT WHAT _YOU_ DID TO _ME_!"

James was as completely and utterly prepared for this attack as he had been for the initial slap. With a shocked curse, his wand was released from the death grip that it had been held in, a sprinkle of brilliant red sparks bursting from the tip. Uselessly, it clattered onto the sodden ground below them. The sudden absence of light only made the situation worse; where as he had seen her hand flying towards him a split-second before it connecting with his face, now, he could see little more than her darkened silhouette whenever a powerful burst of lightening burst from the roiling clouds blanketing the sky. James was alarmed by the fact that his potential for fending her off, or at the very least, blocking her, had dwindled distressingly within the space of a heartbeat.

Ducking away from her as best he could, James thought to grab at her wrists and lock them together, but quickly squashed the thought. As much as she intent on hurting him, the last thing _he_ wanted to do was hurt _her_. And, in the unexpected darkness they found themselves in, James realized that there as every chance that he could accidentally strike her, or even worse, knock her off the bench completely.

So, unwilling to retaliate, James settled for attempting to quail her with words. A fat lot of good it was doing him, too.

"Damn it, Mia – stop! – fucking hell – quit it, woman – _OUCH_! – "

"You stupid, stupid, _stupid_ wanker! You make me sick!"

"Amelia! Will you calm – stop it! – Mia, _stop_ – "

"You make me _sick_, James Potter! I hate you! You fucking prat – "

Though he'd never say so, James found himself distantly agreeing with her claims of his stupidity. It was probably the most insulting thing he had ever said to her, and he knew she was totally justified in slapping the piss out of him. But, sweet Merlin in his grave, this was beginning to hurt worse than seven kinds of Hell.

(Not mention, how embarrassing was it that he was receiving a hysterical beat down from a _witch_?)

Each time she succeeded in belting him, the resulting ache instantly blossomed into a flare of pain akin to a tiny Bludger. Each time her long, firm, and perfectly manicured nail found an exposed bit of skin and viciously raked downwards or sideways, the scratches stung worse than getting hit with a direct _Relashio_. And, each time she shoved at him, the rough gesture continuously catching him off-guard, he realized he was in very real danger of flipping backwards off the bench and cracking his head on the stone below.

Mia was hysterically enraged, the emotions and feelings she'd been more than likely tightly bottling up since first discovering her secret pouring out uncontrollably. On average, James found that he was rather good at heading off any head of steam an enraged witch was building up. He'd had seventeen years of experience so far in wrangling with more than one wrathful witch, and he'd liked to think that he was getting better and better at it each time it occurred.

However, this had been a sneak attack, completely and thoroughly unexpected.

If nothing else, Amelia Zabini was her father's daughter, and Blaise Zabini was quite known for his distant and disdainfully chilled demeanor. James wouldn't go as far as saying that she was as emotionally detached as her father, but Mia had definitely picked up on Blaise's tendency to keep his emotions tightly controlled and collected. Never before had he seen her anger manifest itself in this style – a burst of fiery, fierce frenzy of wrath and hysteria. The few times she'd unleashed her anger on him, it had always been in the shape of one singularly frigid glare, a frosting over of her amber-green eyes that made you feel as though you'd walked through a ghost or been struck directly in your bones with a Freezing Charm.

James wasn't quite certain how to deal with her while she was in this state, but he urged himself to figure something out, quickly. The longer he allowed her to go on like this, the more hysterical she would become, and the bigger chance there would be that the attack ceased to be physical and turned magical. And, to be blasted apart by anger-turned-tangible was one of the last things he wanted.

"Amelia – ouch, _fuck_! – will you calm down?! Stop this – quit – "

James was desperately trying, though, truly trying for the first time in his life to dissolve a volatile situation with words instead of magic or his fists. But, the moment he realized that Mia was too far gone for words of any kind was when her clawed hand slipped right past the flailing of his hands and found his cheek. Ruthlessly, she pressed her nails into his skin and dragged them downwards, leaving four long and rather deep crimson lines in their wake.

It was the wand that broke the hippogriff's back.

"You fucking – " bellowed James, recoiling from the searing flare of pain that sprung to life ferociously across his cheek.

Not caring that they were in the dark, not caring that he might hit her in the process or knock her over, James shoved his hands outwards, and on pure instinct, locked onto her wrists. Once he had them in a grip, he swiftly crossed them together, and clasped both his hands over them solidly. There was no chance of her freeing them again, without flipping the both of them over and onto the ground.

"Let me _go_!" shrieked Mia, struggling. The blended shriek and sob that wrenched itself from her throat was one of the most disconcerting sounds that James had ever heard in his life. "Don't you _dare_ touch me! You touching me got me in this – this – this – _mess_ in the first place – "

"For fuck's sake, woman, _stop it_!" A bit rougher than he intended, James shook her, and the unexpected jolt seemed to grab her attention. Tightening his clasped hands around her wrist, he squeezed tightly, and shook her once more. "Stop it, stop it, _stop it_!"

Both breathing heavily and glaring at one another, James and Mia sat unmoving for one long moment. During their struggle, the rainfall had increased significantly, and now, there was nothing to be heard around them but the dull roar of rain hammering against everything relentlessly. A booming peal of thunder exploded from the clouds, and distantly, James was thankful. At least there wasn't any chance of anyone – most of all, a patrolling professor – having heard what just happened.

A tense silence floated thickly between them. And, then –

Mia drew in a sharp and strangled breath, and with one long, shuddering sob, all of her frenzied anger drained out of her. Absolute misery seemed to come crashing down on her with astounding force. And, unable to handle the burden on her own, Mia slumped forward onto James, sobbing.

"James…" His name came out in a one long, miserable moan. "James, w-what have w-we d-d-_done_?"

Her devastation was almost palpable. With his entire face aching, one side still pulsating from the initial slap and the other side throbbing as blood rushed to the surface and seeped out of the scratches, his head hurting something fierce, and a dull ache spreading from each blow she'd landed and seeming to connect with one another to make one big lattice of pain, James tried his damnedest to be furious with her. Who the bloody hell did she think she was, attempting to pound _him_ into slush? He could count the number of times on one hand that he'd been belted one good, and he hated that now, this little episode had to be added to the list. Not to mention, he'd been laughed right out of Britain if anyone found out that he'd been beaten down by his _girlfriend_.

He wanted _so badly_ to be angry with her. He wanted to rage at her just as fiercely and furiously as she had raged at him. To lash out at her blindly, using her as the closest outlet for his tumultuous emotions.

But, he couldn't.

No matter how intensely he tried, much in the same way all her anger and hysteria had drained out of her, James felt his indignation and anger at being whaled on without little warning evaporating as though they'd never been there. Without the intensity of his anger, James felt boneless, and his entire body seemed to melt under the weight of his and Mia's combined emotions.

Surely, blind fury would be easier to deal with than the steady swell of emotions surging up within him. To be so enraged that you noticed nothing would be better than having to reckon with the icy chill of fear and shock crystallizing around his heart with each passing moment. To be filled to bursting point with righteous indignation would be far better than nearly bursting with the expanding bubble of overwhelming emotions, all funneling through him faster than he could name or register them.

And certainly, to be heated with realization that you'd been wronged was better than be chilled to the bone with the realization that you had completely and totally ruined both your life and that of your girlfriend's, all because he couldn't stand having the piss taken out of him by his mates.

Numbly, James loosened and released the grip he had on Mia's wrist, and allowed them to fall. Without hesitation, Mia curled her arms around him, and clung to him desperately. Her embrace was nearly suffocating, but James hardly noticed. He was barely breathing as it was.

"Mia, I…I don't…"

Words escaped him, but he hadn't expected to find any. What was it could you say exactly to the girl you'd accidentally knocked up? For several long moments, James tried to grasp at the right combination of words that would possibly make this better, perhaps make this situation go away completely. But, when he found nothing, his mouth – desperately needing to something, anything at all – took charge, and expressed the one thing he could think of.

"I am so sorry, Mia."

If anything, the whispered words fueled her tears. Pressing her face so firmly into his shoulder that he wasn't sure she could breath, her body shuddered against him that made him feel as though someone was turning a knife within his chest. He wanted to make this better, truly he did. But, there was nothing to be done at present moment, nothing that could erase this terrible dilemma from reality as they wished.

Lost and afraid, James could do nothing more than allow Mia to cry into his shoulders, as the world rained down on them.


	3. The Morning After

**Chapter Two**: The Morning After

"My God, James – what in the _world_?!"

At the sound of someone calling out his name, their voice decorated with a healthy dose of alarm, James drew himself out of the dazed state he'd been in for the past few hours. A quick glance around the Entrance Hall revealed to him two thoroughly familiar wizards, standing side-by-side and gazing up at him questioningly. It would be a fair guess to assume that Professor Harry Potter and Professor Neville Longbottom had been enjoying a spot of breakfast in the Great Hall and were about head upstairs. They would probably settle down for the morning in one of their private quarters over a kettle of tea. Grade papers for the week. Trade stories about their beloved and respective families. Fondly lament over how, even after nearly twenty-five years of teaching and six teenaged children between them, they still hadn't gotten used to dealing with young wizards and witches day-in and day-out.

But, in all honesty, James could care less about what his father and honorary uncle were about to get up to.

From the moment he had collapsed in his bed, after sneaking back into his dormitory, James had been tossing and turning, his thoughts thrashing about his numbed mind like rogue Bludgers, his body tensing up so badly with each passing out that by now, it felt like nothing more than a tightly wound knot. The entire night had been spent in a daze, his mind desperately trying to process the fact that his girlfriend was expecting his baby. And, by the time he'd finally dozed off, his mind having exhausted itself to the point of total numbness, it was daybreak. For a couple of hours more, James had lain in bed, trying to doze off once more, but it wasn't any use. As the dormitory had lightened, his anxiety had reached a fever-pitch, and suddenly, he couldn't stand simply lying there.

Now, as he stood tensely at the top of the staircase gazing downwards at his father and honorary uncle, he was practically ready to burst with tension and restlessness. He felt like had swallowed a mouthful of doxies, his anxiety was so thick and frenzied, and he knew the only thing that would ease the sensation was talking to Mia.

Yet, the look that his dad carried on his face – the narrowed eyes, the tensed jaw, the pinched lips – said that his trip down to the Hufflepuff Common Room would probably be delayed by a good while yet. James was quite thoroughly acquainted with The Look, as he and his siblings had listlessly dubbed it. It was the look that had overtaken Harry's face each time he, Albus, or Lily had somehow hurt themselves, were discontent with something, or more often, when they were small children, had wandered off and out of his eyesight. After losing nearly everything he held dear during the Second Wizarding World, James could understand Harry's deeply rooted fear of the happiness he had finally achieved being snatched away from him or tarnished.

Truly, he understood this, and idolized his father's resilience. James couldn't imagine having the strength and courage to go through half of the things his father went through. But, there were times – and Albus and Lily fully agreed with him – that James wished his dad would ease up a little. This was one of those times.

Grinding the heels of his hands into his itchy, exhausted eyes, James trudged down the remaining stairs in order to meet his father. Harry was already waiting for him, with Neville standing right alongside him, and as James got closer, their expressions changed from questioning to shocked. James winced, forgetting that he hadn't done a single thing to heal the damage done to his face last night.

"My God," Harry repeated, his brilliant jade green eyes rounded. "Son, you look absolutely terrible! What happened to you?"

Well, wasn't that a shining and flattering complement? "Good morning to you, too, Dad." James said, aware enough of himself to drudge up a bit of falsely sugary sarcasm. "You're looking quite healthy and vibrant this morning, as well."

Neville whistled, as his warm, ocean-blue eyes took in exactly how rough James looked. "You're dad is right, Jamie. You looked as though you've kissed a Bludger or two this morning, or last night, possibly."

"And, you as well, Uncle Nev." James turned his gaze on the professor of Herbology. "Your devastatingly gorgeous face is simply too overwhelming for us mere mortals."

"We aren't joking around, James." Harry said. "What the bloody hell happened to you?" Without waiting for an answer, Harry reached out and grasped his son's chin, intending to examine the damage more closely. James, however, hissed in pain, and roughly jerked away.

Tenderly, the young wizard touched his battered face. "Damn it, Dad – that _hurts_!"

"Watch your mouth," warned Harry, absently. "I'm only trying to get a better look."

"Well, be easier," mumbled James.

Harry repeated his previous action, though with much more care and caution than before, and examined the state of his first-born's face. The entire left side of his face had bruised slightly, the abrasion boasting a short, raised welt through near the center. The other side of his face was in worse shape, though, with four rather deep lines curving downwards, starting at his temple and ending abruptly at the corner of his mouth; each curved mark was irritated, reddened, and crusted over with flakes of dried blood. It wasn't a gigantic leap to suppose that if his face looked like this, then the rest of him must look equally as terrible, if not worse.

Knowing his son and knowing him well, Harry narrowed his brilliant jade green eyes, and pierced the young wizard with a glare. "James Sirius Potter, have you been fighting again?"

James sighed, annoyed.

He hadn't been in a proper Muggle duel since fourth-year, when he and Vincent had double-teamed Connor McLaggen and his brother, Courtland, for cheating them out of money they'd rightfully won through a bet. And, at seventeen, it was beginning to grate on his nerves that each time he turned up with an injury that wasn't related to Quidditch, his father always assumed he'd punched someone out. Yes, knocking the hell out someone was a good stress-reliever, and far more satisfying than simply hexing someone. But, he'd eventually learned that it got you in more trouble than a wizard's duel. A Muggle duel left quite obvious evidence on the other wizard, as well as you, whereas if you were crafty enough and there were no witnesses, you couldn't readily be blamed for a wizard's duel.

"Well, have you?" demanded Harry, firmly.

His agitation rising at being treated like a child, James dismissively answered, "Yeah, Dad, something like that."

For the most part, it was the truth. But, James figured that the more accurate question was "Have you been beaten down?" After all, in order for it to be a proper fight, he would have had to strike back. But, no matter how angry he was, he would have never put his hands on Mia or any other witch. He had been taught far better than that. As it stood already, he felt terrible for grabbing at Mia as he had, in addition to shaking her twice times over. He would have probably skinned himself alive if he'd actually given into his shocked anger and hit her back.

Neville snorted, amused. "Well, Jamie, either you have or you haven't. Unless, of course, you simply stood there while someone slapped you silly."

James snorted, too, but in derision as opposed to amusement. "When flobberworms grow teeth. Come now, Uncle Nev, you know me far better than that to think that I'd simply stand there while someone belted me in the chops."

"Yes, well, we're all well aware of your prowess when it comes to _Muggle dueling_." Harry rolled his eyes. Even after all these years, he couldn't understand where his firstborn had gotten the tendency to punch someone out whenever he was pissed off. "Who was it this time that affronted you so terribly, you felt that knocking his block off was appropriate?"

James hesitated. He wasn't about to tell his father and uncle that he'd been roughed up by a witch, least of all a witch who was supposed to be his girlfriend. That would not only make him look like a nancy, seeing as he hadn't been able to fend her off fast enough to keep her from doing this much damage, but it would also make him look like a complete nutter, to be with a girl who "abused" him.

So, instead, James vaguely waved his hand around in the air. "Oh, you know…someone around these parts."

Neville rolled his eyes, while Harry narrowed his. "Son, there are over a six hundred people in this castle." Harry arched an eyebrow as he continued, "Are you meaning to tell me that all six hundred some odd wizards in this castle converged on you at once and smacked you around as such?"

James hadn't expected that answer to fly, but this didn't stop him from sighing tiredly. "Dad, what does it _matter_ who belted me one good? I walked away, didn't I?"

"Just barely," muttered Harry.

James scoffed. "Oh, come on, Dad. I don't look that bad." However, almost on its own accord, James felt his hand rise, and gingerly, he touched the claw marks going down his face. He winced at the contact. "Okay, it might _look_ bad, but it's nothing, really. Just a few bruises and scratches. They'll probably be gone by sunset."

Harry's eyes narrowed at the mention of "a few bruises", but decided it wasn't worth the effort to explore what caused those. He'd figured as much anyhow. "Too right they'll be gone by the evening, because I'm taking you to Madame Pomfrey – "

"Dad, _no_!"

At the mere mention of the elderly matron, James felt a surge of panic explode in his stomach and his heart seemed to stop.

He hadn't exactly asked, but he was rather certain Mia had visited Madame Pomfrey recently, and it was there that her pregnancy was confirmed. The absolute last thing on earth that James wanted for this dilemma to be revealed to his father. Not only was the situation so raw and unexpected that he was barely beginning to process it, but he and Mia had scarcely discussed it, let alone figured out what to do. And, something told him that before they even thought of approaching Harry or the Zabinis, they would do well to have all their ducks in a row.

The thought of what his father would do to him was almost half as terrifying at the thought of having to look the formidable Blaise Zabini in the eye and admit that it was him who had knocked up his precious, beloved only daughter.

"No, no," declared James, with a slight shudder. Images of being tortured within an inch of his life under the chilled gaze of the Zabini wizard flitted uncontrollably through his mind. "I _really_ don't need the Hospital Wing."

"Are you sure about that?" asked Neville. "You can scarcely bear to be touched as it stands, and I'm sure that you've got one nasty headache there. A couple of waves of Poppy's wand and you'll probably feel loads better."

"I'm fine, Uncle Nev." James said, firmly.

"You may feel fine now," said Harry, "but there a chance you might have a concussion, and if that's the case, you certainly don't need to be dallying about all over Hogsmeade. You could very well collapse."

James blinked in surprise. He'd forgotten that this would be the last Hogsmeade visit before the Easter holidays, in another two weeks. As of a week ago, he and Mia were going to get together with a rather big group of their mates, and spend the day relaxing in various establishment in the all-Wizarding village. But, now…James didn't think he could stand to be around anyone other than Mia.

James knew he sounded pleading, but he didn't quite care at the moment. He really didn't want to take the chance that Madame Pomfrey would reveal his and Mia's secret. "Dad, come on – I really don't feel like having Poppy clucking over me and reminding how much I'm like you and Granddad James. All I want is to go down to the Hufflepuff dormitories and wait outside the cellar for Mia."

"And you'll certainly be welcomed to do that, just as soon as Poppy gives you the all clear." Harry declared. The tone of his voice suggested that the matter was settled and any more protestations would fall on deliberately deaf ears. He placed a hand on James's shoulder – which drew a wince from the teenager – and directed him towards the staircase. "Maybe next time, you'll consider doing the normal thing and hexing someone, instead of punching the bloody hell out of them."

As they all traveled up the marble staircase and made their way towards the seventh floor, Harry and Neville resumed their previous conversation. But, James could care less about what they were discussing. The only thing on his mind on the moment was the very real possibility that a situation he hadn't even properly digested yet could be revealed, and everything would go even deeper into Hell than it already was.

:-:-:-:-:-:

"Hey, Amelia."

Mia had been so caught up in her own tumultuous thoughts, the sound of James Potter's voice made her flinch in surprise. She hadn't been expecting him to be waiting for her, casually leaned against the stone wall outside the oak door that lead down to the Common Room. In all honesty, she hadn't expected him to come near her _at all_.

Though she had desperately held onto him for a long while after she'd broken the news to him, James hadn't been all that responsive. The only time she could remember him touching her was to cradle her loosely, when she'd crawled in his lap and began crying all over again. His reluctance to touch her was one of the many things that had kept her tossing and turning all throughout the night, and by the time her roommates had started moving around, and she realized that was morning, she'd resolved herself to the fact that she'd probably scared James away from her for good.

But, here he was, waiting for her.

For a long moment, Mia studied him, taking in everything about him. Everything about him – from his cloudy honey brown eyes, to his paled tanned complexion, to the weary, worried slouch of his broad shoulders – said that his night had been almost as tumultuous as her own, and Mia found this disconcerting. She hadn't expected him to simply accept this and break into a backflip, as he was wont to do sometimes. But, she hadn't expected him to be completely shaken by the news, either.

James Potter was not one to allow the events of life knock him over, and to see him looking…well, defeated, for a lack of a better word, instantly put her at disease.

"Hello."

Uncertain of what would happen next, Mia simply stood there, her eyes roving over the handsome Gryffindor wizard nervously. When it didn't seem that he was going to do anything other than stand there, Mia took the initiative and spoke first.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, tonelessly.

James didn't seem to have heard her, he was gazing at her so intently. His eyes roved over her, searchingly, and with a deep inhalation of breath, they finally came to rest on her midsection. It wasn't the first time that Mia had thanked the heavens that she had inherited the alluring curves and enticing fullness that the Zabini women were famed for. Anyone who didn't know her secret would simply assume that she was putting on a little weight.

But, James was completely in on the secret, and the way he was starting at her – almost as if he believed an intense enough gaze would allow him to see the tiny life blossoming in her womb – suddenly made her self-conscious. Protectively, she crossed her hands over her abdomen and narrowed her eyes at James.

"Will you stop staring at me like that?" hissed Mia, through her teeth.

Blinking, James tore his gaze away from her, his eyes darting about as thought he felt guilty for doing such a thing. "Sorry," he coughed. Almost against his will, he glanced downwards again, but quickly looked away.

Mia frowned at him slightly. "What are you doing here?" she asked, again.

"Oh. I…um, I…I don't quite know, to be honest. Just kind of wandered down here, I suppose." James ran a hand through his messy hair. Unlike his father and brother, his own hair hadn't been cursed with the fate of constantly impersonating a bird's nest. But, still, James thought the _just-rolled-out-of-bed_ look was rather cool, and rarely made a point to disturb it with a brush or comb. After a moment of silence, he abruptly demanded, "You want to go for a walk?"

Mia blinked. A bit stupidly, she repeated, "A walk?"

"Yeah. I mean, I know we were supposed to go to Hogsmeade today, but I don't…I don't much feel like being around other people. Vince and the rest of the boys, especially." James shrugged, for lack of anything else to do. "Besides, I think that…I think we've a great deal to talk about, and I always think better on my feet. Literally."

"I know." Mia said, with a sigh. "I completely forgot about the weekend being a Hogsmeade weekend."

"Considering, that's rather understandable." James muttered. He paused for a brief moment, before titling his head downwards, gazing at her through his dark lashes, and wondering aloud, "So, is that a yes?"

If Mia wasn't mistaken, the look that he was giving her could be classified as…_bashful_. How surreal this was to see James Potter – the same James Potter who was quite firmly certain of his innate and undeniable greatness and had no qualms about letting _everyone_ know constantly – looking so bloody unsure of himself. To be honest, Mia found it a relief from the force of the Gryffindor's arrogance, and only the slightest bit endearing. The smallest of smiles curved her lips when James took it a step further and began scuffing his foot against the stone ground.

However, she considered his words, she realized that he was indeed right. There was everything in the world to talk about, and putting it off wouldn't make it go away. Her smile slipped from her face, and unexpectedly, Mia found her eyes misting.

_Not right now, Zabini_, Mia scolded herself, firmly. _You've spent enough of the past two weeks doing this, and by now, you should be all cried out. Now, suck it up and get it together_.

"I guess, I – I suppose – " Mia cursed herself silently as her words tumbling uncoordinatedly from her mouth. As a small child, she'd been unfortunate enough to develop a stutter, and it had taken years of mimicking as exactly as she could her aristocratic father's precise and cultured lilt to shake the habit. Taking a deep breath and pausing to gather her words, as her mother had encourage her to do, Mia attempted to answer James again. "I think that going for a walk would be a splendid idea."

James nodded, seeming relieved. For a brief moment, they stood without speaking, not meeting each other's eyes, obviously waiting for the other to make a move. The impasse, however, was broken when the rounded oak door swung open, and quite nearly knocked James off his feet. With a glare, James righted himself, and tensed up, intending to take a bite out of whatever prat had almost knocked him over.

But, when the prat was revealed to be his younger cousin, Hugo, his face relaxed, and he merely settled for rolling his eyes.

"Oh, sorry, Jamie." Hugo grinned, the gesture both an apology and a greeting. "What're you doing down here?" James nodded silently at Mia, and the first-year Hufflepuff grinned, knowingly. "Ah, I see. Hello, Mia."

Mia attempted a smile at the perpetually cheerful Weasley, but failed miserably. She settled for quietly murmuring, "Hi, Hugo."

"You two headed to breakfast?" wondered Hugo. He stepped off to the side, as more of his fellow Hufflepuffs exited the Common Room, all nodding at the group of them.

"Eh, no, I don't think." James said, locking eyes with Mia, and then flittingly glancing at her midsection again. "At least, _I'm_ not particularly hungry."

Mia looked away, not meeting his gaze.

"Well, knock me over with a feather." Hugo continued to grin. "Sometimes, you're worse than Dad and Uncle Charlie when it comes to eating. Mum is constantly saying how you're going to eat Uncle Harry out of house and home one of these days."

"Huh," James snorted. "That coming from the same witch I've seen clearing out the _entire_ sweet shelf once at a certain time of the month, without fail."

Hugo snickered. He eyed James, and said, "You don't think by any chance that Vince hexed you in your sleep? Maybe jinxed your appetite away? Or, maybe he slipped something in your drink last night at dinner; the sly git was looking particularly devilish – "

"Oh, for the sake of magic, Hugo. There isn't anything wrong with me." James snapped, without meaning to. "I'm just not hungry this morning. That isn't something that you'll have to firecall and report to you dad at the Ministry, is it?"

Hugo blinked, surprised. "Well, who pissed in your pumpkin juice this morning?"

Unwillingly, his temper and irritation combined, flaring to life fiercely. With narrowed eyes, James retorted, "Your mother."

"Hey, you wanker!" Hugo was instantly furious and more than a little bit indignant that James would say something like that about his mum – and his own aunt-godmother, to boot. "I don't care how pissy you are right now, don't say something like that about Mum!"

Mia sighed, her hands going to her temples in a weary gesture. It wasn't unusual for James to pick a fight with someone, but doing so over something of his own doing was simply annoying. "Hugo, he didn't mean it, really. He simply has his knickers in a knot because he…because he's a bent out of shape about something that happened last night."

Hugo pinned his older cousin with a dirty look. "Well, he says something like that again, and I'll be more than happy to straighten him out."

"I wish you would try to hex me," James declared. "You can pull your wand on me if you want, but I promise by the end of it, Rosie'll have a little sister instead of a brother."

"Oh, you think you're something do you?" demanded Hugo. He drew himself to his full height, and became even more furious at the fact that he practically had to crane his neck to meet his older cousin's eye. He was considered tall for his age, but he was no match for a nearly grown wizard of seventeen. "Well, I'll have you know, you bloody prat, that – "

"Well, isn't this a simply splendid start to the morning," announced a dry and exasperated voice from rounded opening of the Common Room. Candice Weasley was in the processes of twirling her long, auburn hair into a messy bun atop her head, as she looked back and forth between her two younger cousins. Noticing the looks each of the boys wore, she eyed James and questioned, "The day has barely started, and already, you're antagonizing the piss out of someone, James?"

"What!" James glared indignantly at his cousin. "How do you figure it was _me_ who started it and not this little zit?"

Candice looked at James, her lips pursed knowingly. "I'm quite certain it was you, because Hugo is simply too damned pleasant to rile someone up, unlike you, who lives for provoking anyone with a pulse."

James wanted to say something to counter this, but could find nothing suitable, for she spoke the truth. Instead, he settled for the most mature response he could think of. "Oh, shove it, you ugly gits."

"Right back at you," Hugo declared cheerfully. He ignored the incredibly rude twitch of James's finger, and turned to Candice. "Going down to breakfast, cuz?"

"Yes, but it'll have to be something quick." Candice replied. The seventh-year Hufflepuff and this year's Head Girl – surprising, considering which Weasley brother her father was – tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, as she explained, "I want to get back here and finish up my Charms essay. Then, Carina and I wanted to go up to the library and see what's what with Nick Chang-Corner's study group. How come?"

Hugo shrugged, pleasantly. "Just asking. I was going to walk down with Mia and _this_ git, but considering how tightly his knickers are twisted, I won't put it past him to stab me with a fork, if he thinks I'm looking too closely at him."

Candice snickered. Affectionately ruffling her cousin's mop of curly brown hair, she smiled and announced, "Well, little cousin, I'd love to have your company. I hope they've got sweet rolls, this morning…"

Together, with a half-hearted glare from Hugo and a fond grin from Candice, the two Hufflepuff Weasleys walked up the curved staircase that led to the Entrance Hall, their companionable chatter gradually fading away. Agitated over being bested by his cousin, regardless of how small the besting had been, James continued to glare at the staircase.

"Bloody gits." James grumbled. "I ought have done just as Dad suggested and hexed him."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Professor Potter suggested that you hex someone? Your cousin, especially?"

"Well, not in so many words, no." James said. "But, he saw what you did to me yesterday evening, and assumed that I'd gotten into a scuffle with someone. He told me that instead of knocking the hell out someone like a Muggle would, I should just do the normal thing, and hex them."

At the mention of her hysterical attack on him, as well as the fact that her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had seen it, Mia flushed deeply, her copper brown complexion practically glowing. While she was completely unapologetic about backslapping him – the git deserved it _completely_, suggesting that she was sleeping around on him – she was rather ashamed and sorry that she had attacked him as she had. Never before had she allowed herself to become to so overtaken by her emotions that she simply erupted as she had last night. Honestly, she didn't know what had gotten into her.

Not for the first time, she was glad that no one had seen that – especially of all, her parents. Blaise would have been thoroughly disgusted at such a barbaric and plebian show of emotion and quite displeased that she'd rid herself of it by way of Muggle dueling. Susan Bones-Zabini would have been more than a little aghast that she'd behaved like in such an unladylike manner. And, neither one of them would have let her hear the end of it for a long while.

Ashamed and disgusted with her own self, Mia shifted her arms from where they rested across her stomach and moved them upwards, crossing them over her chest.

"Yes, about that…" Uncomfortably, Mia cleared her throat. "I apologize, James, for losing my head on you, as I did. I had thought that I could control myself, but then you made that remark, and it was like the last straw. I just – "

"Ah, don't worry about it." James said, shrugging dismissively. He, too, was unable to meet her eyes, but for a different set of reasons. "I kind of deserved it. Well, not all the other stuff, but certainly the smack upside the head. You know I didn't mean that, right?"

The mere memory of that comment sent a simmering lick of anger down her spine. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, "Well, you certainly thinking it, weren't you?"

James flushed, guiltily. "Well, I – I mean, come on, Mia. You had just told me you're – that you were – " He couldn't bring himself to voice the situation out loud, so instead continued, "Look, I'm not proud of it, okay, but it was the first thing that came to mind. And, you know me. If it's here" – he pressed his hand to his forehead – "then it's here." He moved his hand downwards, briefly touching his mouth.

Mia sighed, knowing that this was as close to an apology that she would get with James Potter. She looked upwards, searching his face and expecting to see the remnants of her little fit. But, she was surprised to see that with the exception of two thin, pale lines running down his face, there wasn't any evidence of her having turned into a madwoman on him.

"These scars, they aren't permanent, are they?" Mia reached forward to touch said scars.

As soon as her fingertips graced his cheek, James stiffened. He was obviously uncomfortable with the thought of her touching him, and masking the action with a shrug, he subtly evaded her touch. "Um, I'm not sure. But, probably, yeah. In case you hadn't noticed, Zabini, you've got quite the set of claws on you."

Rather stung by his rejection, Mia drew her bottom lip between her teeth, and tried her best to blink back the sudden swell of tears in her eyes. James instantly mistook this for her being hurt by his remark, and backpedaled quickly.

"In all honesty, Mia. These are nothing." James touched the scars lightly, successfully hiding how the freshly healed slices were still quite tender. "I mean, you didn't know me as a kid. I got into everything imaginable, and I'd need _more_ than two hands to count the number of times I've gotten banged up, and come out on the other end with at least one scar.

"Hmm." Mia didn't trust herself to say anything more. For surely, if she'd opened her mouth, a miserable wail would escape before she'd have a chance to stop it.

For several long moments, a thick and uncomfortable silence stretched between them. For once in his life, James was at a loss for what to say next. And, Mia was no better, as she stood stiffly, trying her damnedest to convince herself that James Potter was _not worth crying over_. The minutes stretched on. Then, when he couldn't take the silence any longer – he was an innately boisterous and loud person, and to him, silence was maddening – James shoved his hands through his dark hair, and exhaled loudly.

"I guess we'd better get on with it, then," he declared, rather bluntly. "Standing here all day isn't going to get us anywhere."

Mia nodded in agreement, and without looking at him, turned and began walking up the stairwell. In an obvious attempt to put a bit of distance between them, she quickened her pace. But, James quailed this attempt within moments, easily matching and slightly surpassing her stride; his legs were significantly longer than hers, even though she stood only a head shorter than him. Within moments, they strolled into the Entrance Hall, and it was there that they were met with a generous flow of their fellow students into the Great Hall.

The combined aroma of several different choices of breakfast foods wafted out, the house-elves having done a splendid job as usual. But, instead of being enticed by the smells of crisp bacon and fluffy pancakes, Mia felt her stomach lurch unpleasantly. She came to a halt and pressed her hand over her mouth. James had taken a few steps before he realized that Mia was no longer walking beside him. A curious frown on his face, he doubled-back. His honey brown eyes glanced over her and then flicked over to the open doors of the Great Hall, questioningly.

"You never did say – are you hungry?"

Mia shook her head silently.

"Are you sure? Because, I mean – well, I think – "

His eyes darted around the Entrance Hall nervously, before he stepped closer to her. James leaned down slightly, and with a significant gleam in his eyes, he whispered, "I don't know a lot about – y'know, what's going on. But, I – don't you think you should eat something? You know, feed the…"

The mere mention of food, both for herself and the baby, made her stomach lurch unpleasantly again.

This time, however, Mia wasn't sure if it was the fact that she was nauseous or because of the fact that the reason _why_ she was nauseous. Ever so slightly, Mia moved her hand away from her mouth, and took a deep breath through her mouth, hoping that breathing this way wouldn't aggravate the problem. But, she was wrong. The smell seemed almost tangible, and without a doubt, Mia knew that if she stayed this close to the Great Hall one more second, she would most certainly vomit all over the place.

Rather roughly, Mia brushed past James and swiftly strode towards the thick, oak doors that opened up to reveal the grounds. Not for the first time, she was thankful that the magic of the castle recognized her as a student, and therefore, opened its doors without any physical prompting from her. She just knew that if she moved her hand from her mouth, she'd puke.

"Mia, wait – are you sure you don't want me to get you at least some toast or something?"

Mia ignored him, however, racing as quickly as onto the grounds as she could without drawing attention to herself. The quicker she got away from the Great Hall, away from the smells, sensations – possibly even the confused wizard standing outside the Great Hall – the better she would feel.


End file.
